Don Juan, the dog

Growing up in between

II Don Juan, the dog

The landlord used to keep a mutt. Perhaps “keeping” was not the right word. The mutt just appeared in front of the lobby of the building every morning. The landlord would give him a bowl of leftover for breakfast, and then the mutt would disappear until the next day morning.

One day, Alexei’s mother suggested to follow the mutt and see what he was doing after breakfast.

That morning they became the stalking detectives.

The mutt first stopped by a tiny park (probably of just 8 sq meters) in the urban centre of Hong Kong. Within the bushes, came several tiny puppies and another big female mutt.

“So he was meeting his family,” the mother said to Alexei.

The two detectives continued their stalking.

Upon every traffic light, the mutt would sit down and wait for the green light to cross. He also stopped by a number of different spots, at which at least one female dog was waiting.

Occasionally, he would stop by restaurants.

One of the restaurants was an Italian restaurant, just like which in Disney’s “Lady and the Tramp”, though he didn’t bring one of his girlfriends for the fancy meal.

At the end of the day, the two detectives concluded that the mutt was the Don Juan of his kind.

However, a few months later, the mutt no longer came.

Was he dead? Had he found a new home? Or perhaps he was sick of the cheap leftovers?

Alexei could not tell.

Maybe the mutt, like every Hong Kong people, was also lost in the urban jungle.

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Micro fiction with practice painting on J. S. Sargent

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She raised her hand, and the world stopped for her.

The cashmere cape danced in the air.

Every thread was the melody that drove the steps.

The steps were sometimes of a lion; sometimes of a panther.

Either way the heat was eager to claw my heart out.

Her arms and fingers twisted and waved.

I retreated backward and she approached onward.

Within the rhythm, my back was forced to the wall.

She slapped me.

“We are done!”

The next day I received a phone call from the divorce attorney.

The painting was my study on the dancer in Sargent’s El paleo.

It took me 2 days to finish the study, and the dress really drove me crazy.

©Paulus of Sinae (Chan Po Lo Paul) April 2016

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Wash the dishes!

Growing up in between

I. Wash the dishes!

Alexei Lau was born as a Hong-Kong-nese or Hongkie as the Singaporeans put it, but his parents were poor immigrants to Hong Kong from China.

As poor as they were, the whole family rented a 4-square-meter room in a big apartment in the old urban part of Hong kong. There were so many tenants in this apartment, each renting a room.

Alexei could recall there were once a group of Indian ladies who always loved to use a lot of lamb oil when cooking. And they were notorious for not washing the pots and dishes, leaving them in the sink for days until the coat of lamb oil formed a yellow crust onto the surfaces.

Alexei, a 2 year old boy back then, hated the smell of lamb. It made him nauseous. Unfortunately there was a hole at the adjacent wall of the bathroom to the kitchen, so the stench was always creeping into the bathroom, and vice versa. 

One day, while Alexei was being bathed by his mother, the stench was sagging into the air again. Suddenly Alexei jumped out of the the plastic bucket (used as a bathtub) and rushed to the room of the Indian ladies, with his mother yelling from behind. 

Alexei banged at the door. It was one of the Indian ladies who answered it. Behind her were six people, all staring at this naked 2-year-old with bubbles in his hair.

Alexei started mumbling and shouting at the poor lost people who had no idea what this little kid was doing. Alexei could no longer figure out what exactly he was talking about right now. The memory was too shattered and old. Yet the main gist he believed was just asking them to “wash the dishes”.

For a moment, the indian lady who opened the door was shocked, but then she started laughing, so were her guests. Hearing the laughters, time stopped for a moment for Alexei. Then the soapy water dripped into his eyes. While he was trying hard to blink away the soap, he was snatched by his mother under from the armpits, and carried back to the bathroom.

Years after, Alexei could finally laugh at that stupid outburst. Also Indian cuisines began to glow on him.

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©Paulus of Sinae (Chan Po Lo Paul) April 2016

P.S. Not to my expectation, I found it is more difficult to paint the naan than the curry. If you find that strangely shaped bread confusing, just imagine it as a dough. 🙂

Sinking into the sky

The sky is always a mystery to me. Why do I get to stay in the sea? I have seen creatures floating above the air. They stretch out their flippers and beat. I stretched out mine and beat them relentlessly. Nothing ever happened. I have also seen lands floating on the surface. These lands never extend to the bottom of the sea. They just float and they are quite noisy sometimes. Some of them are giant, some of them can even be smaller than me. My kin told me to stay clear of them. There are vile creatures on these lands.

“Dive when you see the floating lands. They will catch you. They will pierce you and drag you out of the ocean.”

Yet I never thought that day would come to me.

My blood scatters into the water. Red turns from crimson into a cloud of dark smoke sinking into the bottomless ocean.

Then they start to drag. It doesn’t feel like I am ascending out of the water, rather I am sinking. Fear and pain drags my heart down as I am being lifted up. The abyss is behind me, where the sun shines and a sharp hook sparkles.

My tail is out of the water now. My eyes stare into the bottomless ocean. The dark purple bottom is my refuge. What’s down is my heaven and the hell is above me. And I keep sinking into the hell.

They caught me. Why? Probably for the same reason I keep catching the squids. As my mouth crushed their slippery bodies, their pale, redless blood squeezed into my throat. Did I moan for them? Why should I? I feel good when I eat them.

The mild warmth of the sun hits my eyes. The orange coloured sky hangs above my tail. I was out of the water.

Finally, I sink into the sky

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The painter and his bride

The painter and his girlfriend were at the beach.

“I love you,” the painter said, holding a paint brush in his hand, pressing it upon the canvas.

“Why?” the girl asked with a sly smile. The radiance of the sunset swept on her blushed cheek.

“Your breasts. They give me comfort. When I lay on them, they feel like this paint,” his finger dipped into the paint on the palette, gently rubbing the smear. “Soft… Wet… And… So gentle.”

The girl giggled, “Why don’t you marry my breasts then?”

A week later, a wedding was held.

Before the minister were the painter and his painting:

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The ember of the Firebird

 

the bonfire of the firebird

 

They say…

The feather of Ziz the Firebird is the source of warmth and happiness.

It turns into cinder and burns forever.

Each feather will grant you the wish that have been skittering in your mind for years,

As long as you have the craft to sketch with the ash…

To be continued in the upcoming book

My new thriller fantasy novella

The new thriller novella will be out within two weeks. And it will be free for the first month! (After that it will ONLY be $0.99. Pay up you freeloaders… LOL)

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He wakes up to find all his memories lost. He scans the room. Every detail seeps into his mind, recalling  distant strands of event embedded within the deepest consciousness of his.  He can remember he is the Archmage of the mage academy.  Then within a blink, he finds himself in the hall of the academy talking to his colleagues.
For the next few days, he starts to have various blackouts. And he begins to have nightmares every night. What has happened to him? He tries to find out, but the truth can be deadly, in the sense it does not only take his life, but also his subjectivity….